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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29072847">Not Like a Painting</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/bitochondria/pseuds/bitochondria'>bitochondria</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Miami Vice (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Awkward Conversations, Awkward Flirting, Bisexuality, Canon-Typical Behavior, Cuddling &amp; Snuggling, F/F, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Internalized Homophobia, Mutual Pining, Period Typical Attitudes, episode: s02e04 The Dutch Oven, fake date, possibly one-sided attraction</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 09:47:01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,878</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29072847</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/bitochondria/pseuds/bitochondria</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Trudy drags Gina along on a day of hookey from work, and Gina decides they're on a-- totally platonic-- date. But then again, just maybe, is it possible that Gina is actually flirting with her?</p><p>(Takes place sometime during early S2!)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Gina Calabrese/Trudy Joplin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Not Like a Painting</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>She had asked once already, before she even had finished her morning coffee. Gina had kind of giggled, making that little-girl scrunch-nose face that made it clear she had </span>
  <em>
    <span>no </span>
  </em>
  <span>idea it was a serious suggestion. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now Trudy stood, arms crossed, leaning back against a file cabinet, waiting for an answer to the same question asked again more directly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gina balked.  “It’s not even noon. We can’t just </span>
  <em>
    <span>leave</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trudy literally pouted, jutting out her lower lip and widening her eyes like a Precious Moments doll. Puppy-dog eyes wasn’t a high level negotiation tactic, but it was worth a shot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Looking over her shoulder like she was about to agree to an actual crime, Gina pinched her mouth to one side. She turned back to Trudy and sighed silently through her nose. “Tell you what: tomorrow— we can both call out sick. Pretend we… ate some bad shellfish or something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Trudy shook her head, eyebrows drifting upwards in exasperation. “That’s the whole point, that we </span>
  <em>
    <span>don’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> call out.” She gestured to the door. “We just leave.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t see how we won’t end up in trouble if we just </span>
  <em>
    <span>disappear</span>
  </em>
  <span> at noon on a Wednesday.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get in trouble— Gina, let me guess, you had perfect attendance in high school?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now it was Gina’s turn to pout. The petulant set of her eyebrows indicated a strong ‘yes.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trudy probably should have dropped it, but she wasn’t sticking around either way, and if she was going to play hookey, she may as well try to bring a friend. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s Castillo gonna do, fire us? </span>
  <em>
    <span>We</span>
  </em>
  <span> do all the paperwork around here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well…” Gina’s look of worry softened into simple reluctance. “We should at least let someone know in case there’s an emergency. Maybe… Rico?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trudy closed her eyes and pressed her palms together in an imitation of prayer. “I’m trying very hard to do something spontaneous and dumb right now, and you’re kind of making that impossible.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At this, Gina started laughing. She brought her hands up to her face and rubbed at her eyes, and then acquiesced. “Okay. Fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trudy’s gesture of prayer turned into two happy fists of victory, and she flashed Gina a silent grin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gina looked over her shoulder again, on high alert for some kind of roving Vice Squad hall monitor. “But if we get fired, I’m making you move in with me, and we’re splitting all the bills sixty-forty.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That sounds like a great deal. Can we just do that anyway?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Seventy-thirty,” Gina clarified, flicking Trudy in the shoulder before she shut the file drawer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trudy tried very hard not to smirk victoriously. Gina was such a goody-two-shoes, and it was so damn cute. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It had been strange, years ago, when they had both first joined Vice. Gina wasn’t the kind of person Trudy usually found herself choosing to spend time with— she was a good girl, with two capital G’s. A little sentimental. Risk-averse. Cautious with her words and careful with people’s feelings. Trudy— blunt, analytical, occasionally a bit too impulsive— usually had very little patience for people like Gina. But she had liked her almost immediately, and they had quickly become fast friends.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It helped, of course, that neither of them really had many </span>
  <em>
    <span>other</span>
  </em>
  <span> friends outside of work. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But they also had very similar views on a wide variety of topics— Gina usually phrased hers a bit more politely— and the same dumb things made them laugh. They had always rolled their eyes at Crockett at the same time, even when Gina had been sleeping with him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>No one ever commented on their friendship the way they did Switek and Zito, even if they spent about the same amount of time together. The assumption seemed to be that, well, they were both women, and that was enough of an explanation. That the shared experience of having breasts created unbreakable platonic bonds or something. But despite the fact that men were stupid and didn’t understand how female friendships worked, their friendship </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> work. Trudy genuinely liked spending time with Gina.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even if she had </span>
  <em>
    <span>absolutely</span>
  </em>
  <span> no skill for subterfuge. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>On the way out of the precinct, Trudy muttered something extremely vague to Sonny, something about “following up on a lead.” That way, if anyone asked where they were, Crockett would parrot this line and unintentionally cover for them. Gina, on the other hand, waved and said ‘see you tomorrow.’ Trudy bit the inside of her lip, but Crockett, reading something on his desk, had merely waved and returned the salutation. He probably wouldn’t even remember doing it, thank god.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In Trudy’s car, she had turned to Gina and questioned: “‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>See you tomorrow’</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gina scrunched up her face in apologetic worry. “You don’t think he noticed, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just remind me not to involve you if I ever decide to start robbing banks.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I could drive the getaway car.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trudy decided not to suggest Gina be the point man. Actively bringing up her tendency to shoot first and ask questions later usually put her in a sour mood, for whatever reason. Instead, Trudy joked, “Yeah, until someone asks you why you’re idling in the fire lane, and you apologize and move the car.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gina smacked her on the arm, but she was trying very hard not to smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So what do you want to do?” Gina glanced out the window, looking up at a swinging crane that was moving rebar over a growing city skyline.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We could go to the beach,” Trudy suggested without any strong conviction. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, no, come on!” Gina shook her head slightly, an increasing look of determination on her face. “If we’re going to break the rules, we may as well make a day of it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trudy grinned. That’s why hookey </span>
  <em>
    <span>with</span>
  </em>
  <span> Gina was better than without. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We could go get lunch somewhere fancy,” she began, suddenly animated, all smiles, “Or drive down to the Keys, or go roller skating…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Roller skating?” Trudy snorted, cheeks dimpling at the image of the two of them in poodle skirts, gliding around to a Chuck Berry soundtrack. “I guarantee you we would be the only people over 15.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a school day,” Gina contended. “There shouldn’t be any kids.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are we gonna bust them if there are?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gina moved on from the roller rink suggestion without answering this query. “We could go to a museum!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you really want to go to a museum?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah!” She threw her hands up. “We </span>
  <em>
    <span>never</span>
  </em>
  <span> get to do anything like that. Everything’s always closed by the time we get off, and the only ‘art’ we ever get to see on the job is erotic.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> a really nice mural at that strip club last week.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m serious! Let’s go get an outrageously expensive lunch and then go to the Bass or something.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trudy glanced at Gina. She couldn’t help but smile at the earnest expression of entreaty on her face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fancy meal and a museum, huh.” Trudy gave Gina a one-eyed squint, and joked, “Is this a date?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gina aggressively slapped her palms to her thighs. “You know what? Yes.” She nodded. “I haven’t been on a real date— something other than drinks and hanky-panky, y’know?— in </span>
  <em>
    <span>months</span>
  </em>
  <span>. If no one’s going to take us out, then we can take each other out.” She offered her hand, palm up, fingers extended. “It’s a date.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The initial surprise of her ‘yes’ wore off almost immediately. Gina was straighter than Route 9 south of Fort Lauderdale; her saying it was a ‘date’ was no different than calling a group of close-knit women her ‘girlfriends.’ Trudy laughed and interlaced her fingers with Gina’s. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright. Where are we getting lunch?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How close are we to—” Gina ducked her head low to read a street sign beneath the sunvisor. “Um. Turn left when you get to the next light, okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay. Are you going to tell me where we’re going, or is it a surprise?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Surprise, but maybe think of a backup in case we can’t get in without a reservation.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trudy’s eyebrows shot up. “How badly is this going to break the bank?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Depends on how much champagne we drink,” Gina calculated, smiling like the cat with the canary. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Since it seemed uncouth to go to an art museum sloshed, they drank a very reasonable and responsible amount of champagne. They ordered— le homard grillé and the chateaubriand— and ate off each other’s plates, and at the end of the meal, they shared a soufflé de Bénédictine. The atmosphere of conviviality was such that, as he was serving them dessert, the waiter questioned them on it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you ladies celebrating a special occasion?” He placed the soufflé between them, and presented each of them with a long dessert spoon. His question was entirely innocent— even if it weren’t a fake date anyway, it’s not like anyone would suspect that’s what they were doing. Men would generally chalk up any “strange” or “confusing” behavior to women being inscrutable; the waiter probably assumed they were sharing the dessert for diet reasons. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trudy put her hand on Gina’s back. “She just got engaged!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gina’s eyes widened slightly, and then she immediately jumped in to play along. “Peter— can I call you Peter? It’s just a dream come true. He’s the CFO of this electronics company— I don’t really get it,” she sighed, her affected hoi-polloi accent like a cheese grater to the ears, “but he’s just so </span>
  <em>
    <span>dedicated </span>
  </em>
  <span>to everything he does and— well, that’s the reason I don’t have a ring yet— he called me from </span>
  <em>
    <span>Japan</span>
  </em>
  <span> to propose!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She might not be good at lying to her friends, but she was a whiz with a cover story. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trudy pinched her thigh under the table and Gina turned the resultant slight jump into a gesture of romantic heart-clutching. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter the waiter looked very much like he wished he hadn’t asked. “Well congratulations. I wish you and your fiance many years of happiness.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He left very quickly, before Gina could tell him about her imaginary husband-to-be’s finer qualities. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trudy laughed silently, chest shaking, head down slightly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gina grabbed her spoon and took the first bite of soufflé. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What, too much?” She licked her lips, cheeks dimpled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trudy just mimicked, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>‘Can I call you Peter?’</span>
  </em>
  <span>” and took her own bite of dessert. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You just need to channel your inner white woman,” Gina shrugged, muffled as she slid her spoon back in her mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trudy snorted. “Even if I had one of those, that’s a much less effective strategy when you can’t pass as white.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gina half-laughed, half-choked on her mouthful of soufflé. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When she had managed to stem the laughter and the coughing, she got quiet. “So,” she squinted, swallowing, “Is there a reason you wanted to do this today, or…?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trudy took a moment to spoon and eat more soufflé before answering. “Not really,” she lied. “It was just time for a day off.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The expression on Gina’s face was neutral, in the practiced way of the interrogation room. She looked back down at the table and poked the top of the soufflé with her spoon. Gina’s contradictions— how she could slide so easily undercover but barely squeak a little white lie to her friends— that she felt everything and cried easily but could unblinkingly stare down a militia armed to the teeth— the way she seemed so naive sometimes but in the same breath could be incisively perceptive— they made her fascinating, diamond-sharp beneath the sweetness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But they could also make her </span>
  <em>
    <span>incredibly</span>
  </em>
  <span> annoying. Trudy contemplated the best way to quickly change the subject before Gina switched into detective mode and started grilling her on her real feelings. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So after the museum, do you still want to go roller skating?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gina smirked, tickled but not fully thrown off the scent. “Well, school will be out by then, and I don’t really want to get made fun of by teenagers with better balance than me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We could do something dumb and touristy— go to the Seaquarium and see Flipper,” she joked. She grabbed Gina’s hand, feigning immense enthusiasm. “We could go on the Space-Rail!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I haven’t been on the Space-Rail in years!” She sighed. “Y’know, when I was a little kid, I really thought we would all be traveling everywhere by monorail by now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not flying cars?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Gina trailed, pursing her lips slightly, “My aunt told me once that I started crying after watching </span>
  <em>
    <span>The Jetsons</span>
  </em>
  <span> because apparently I asked her if every time someone in a flying car got in a car accident, debris would just fall on everyone below.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trudy blinked, eyes wide. “That’s a rough way of looking at </span>
  <em>
    <span>The Jetsons</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yup. </span>
  <em>
    <span>The Flintstones</span>
  </em>
  <span> was off limit in our house because I asked too many questions about the animals they used as appliances.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When she squeezed it in laughter, Trudy realized her hand was still clasped in Gina’s.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anyway, I had, uh, one of those little Mold-O-Rama things of the Space-Rail.” She gestured vaguely with her free hand, sort of a squareish shape. “I guess I had a lot of feelings about public infrastructure as a kid.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That is too cute,” Trudy fussed, leaning her shoulder into Gina’s. “I’m surprised you didn’t become an engineer.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gina made a face, small and distant and ever-so-brief, and then raised her eyebrows at Trudy. “I was a good student, but not that good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She didn’t talk much about how or why she became a cop. She was uniquely suited for it, in some ways, but in other ways, Trudy had always suspected joining the force may have been some kind of compromise. She felt incredibly stupid for not thinkingbefre she spoke. One of five, a child of refugees raised by a member of her extended family— financially, college probably would have been a reach. She shifted her grip on Gina’s hand so their fingers were intertwined. Would saying ‘sorry’ just make her feel pitiful?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So, she half-joked, “Hey, it’s never too late. There will come a day when Castillo’s gonna decide we can’t pass as prostitutes anymore.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you really think Castillo has ever looked at either of us long enough to determine whether we can pass as prostitutes </span>
  <em>
    <span>now</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trudy pictured his thousand-yard stare, always pointed just to the left or right of whomever he was speaking to. “Hell no.” She laughed, absentmindedly rubbing Gina’s thumb with her own. “He’s the best damn boss I’ve ever had!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sometimes I think I could come to work naked and he’d just hand me a stack of papers and nod and mutter good morning.” Gina cocked one eyebrow, looking upward for a moment. “I mean. Everyone </span>
  <em>
    <span>else </span>
  </em>
  <span>would have a lot of questions, but…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s the experiment I’ve been doing!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think I’d remember if you had come to work naked.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, not </span>
  <em>
    <span>nude</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I just— earlier this year, do you remember when we had to go under at that S&amp;M club?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gina grimaced. “Unfortunately.” She scooped out the second to last spoonful of soufflé and nudged the crock in Trudy’s direction. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, one of the days we were there, I didn’t have time to change before coming back to the precinct because we had an emergency meeting, you remember that?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gina’s grimace transformed into a grin. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh yeah</span>
  </em>
  <span>. You had on that…” She furrowed her brows, groping for a word. “Harness. Thing.” Her eyes cast downward over Trudy’s midsection in a way that made the hair on the back of Trudy’s neck stand up. Almost a once-over. “And, uh very little else.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trudy’s cheeks went hot. She whacked Gina on the arm and took the little soufflé ramekin into her hand. “Yeah, yeah. Well, the whole time in the conference room, Castillo just kept looking at me </span>
  <em>
    <span>right here</span>
  </em>
  <span>—” She pointed to a spot in the air about three inches above and to the left of her head. “And Crockett and Tubbs and Zito all just kept finding new interesting things on the ceiling.” She laughed. “Only Stan said anything— </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘where the hell do you even buy something like that?</span>
  </em>
  <span>’ And I just realized… no one cared.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She bit the inside of her lip, smiling incredulously. “And I decided, hey, y’know what? I got a lot of damn cute clothes I never wear because I never </span>
  <em>
    <span>go</span>
  </em>
  <span> anywhere, might as well start wearing them at work.” She leaned back in her chair. “You ever actually read our dress code?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When I first started, I guess,” Gina squinted slightly. “But I haven’t in years.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I break at least one dress code rule every day,” she laughed, “And at first I thought, one of these days Castillo is going to call me into his office and tell me to straighten up, but then I realized— no he won’t. Because that would mean acknowledging that he’s aware that I have boobs.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gina choked with laughter, quickly clasping her hands over her mouth to quiet herself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Trudy, I love you,” she giggled, meaning it with total platonic sincerity. “You’re the only person I know who would think of something like that.” She shrugged, and then added with a blink-and-miss-it  suggestive shift of the eyebrows, “And you </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span> look really good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trudy covered her smile with her curled fist, index finger just under her nose. A very Rico gesture, she realized as she was doing it. Or maybe it was just the universal gesture of awkward embarrassment for people who had minor crushes on their work partners. Rico would not be happy to know she knew they shared that in common. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, shall we snap our fingers for </span>
  <em>
    <span>Monsieur Peter</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” she pronounced with a vaguely European flourish, “to come and give us our </span>
  <em>
    <span>chèque</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Oui oui ma chère,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Gina agreed, and then they both spent the next few minutes silently trying to make eye contact with their waiter from across the room, because neither of them had any desire to actually harass the poor man.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The rest of their afternoon went more or less as planned. They visited the Bass, standing shoulder to shoulder in front of paintings, commenting on color and form, admiring brushstrokes and giggling about nudity and poorly drawn faces. On the way to the Seaquarium, Gina made Trudy pull over at an abuelita’s roadside cart and bought flowers, which she presented to Trudy with a flourish, insisting that they </span>
  <em>
    <span>had to</span>
  </em>
  <span>, since they were on a date. Trudy spent the rest of the trip biting the inside of her cheek trying not to grin like an idiot. They rode the Space-Rail and saw the sea lion show, tapped on the sides of a lot of fishtanks, and shared a nautical-themed sundae. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>On the way out, Gina insisted they take a series of photo booth pictures.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is this blackmail?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gina looked genuinely surprised as she pulled Trudy with her behind the curtain. “What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Photographic proof that we skipped work?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Gina lied, nodding, long eyelashes coming slowly together. “The best blackmail is self-incriminating. Come on.” She put quarters in the machine and pressed her cheek to Trudy’s. “It’s to commemorate our date, obviously.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trudy smiled genuinely, eyes on Gina instead of the camera. When the roll printed, it was clear to Trudy that they very well might end up being blackmail anyway. She didn’t think of herself as being </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> into Gina— it had never been more than an occasional ‘she-</span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span>-kinda-cute’ sort of crush— but here she looked besotted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gina apparently didn’t notice, because she announced she would be putting the photos on her desk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Great.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sun was setting as Trudy turned the keys in the ignition. She put the top down, and they secured the flowers and photos in the trunk. As they pulled out onto the road, Gina leaned her head against the headrest, tilted sideways, and pursed her lips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So why’d you really want to do this today?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trudy exhaled a long, irritated sigh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I had a fight with my mom,” she admitted, embarrassed as soon as the words left her mouth. It made her sound like a moody teenager. “About David.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? The asshole dumped you for doing your job. What’s there to fight about?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>told</span>
  </em>
  <span> her that, and she said that we ‘still could have made it work’ if I had just tried harder, and that my problem is that my standards are too high.” Trudy closed her eyes for longer than she should have driving. She assumed that her mother’s concerns about her love life still stemmed from the fear that she was a lesbian, but she wasn’t going to explain that part to Gina. “And then when I came in this morning, Rico complimented my outfit and asked if I had a ‘hot date tonight,’ and…” She scrunched her face up, feeling very stupid. “He was being nice! But I might have yelled at him a little.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gina’s face scrunched too, sympathetically. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Told him my outfit was no one’s business but my own and that he was being sexist to assume it had anything to do with a man.” Saying it out loud, it was a lot sillier now than it had been then.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How did he react to that?” Gina raised one eyebrow and pinched her lips tight trying not to smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trudy snorted. “He apologized.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gina started laughing, and Trudy joined in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She sighed as she trailed off. “Anyway, it all sounds dumb now, but…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no, I get it. You were frustrated.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t want to have to deal with all that testosterone for the rest of the day.” Trudy flashed her lights to let someone go at a four-way stop. “It’s like… the kind of men who really see me as a woman and not as a cop are the kind of men who can’t deal with the fact that I’m a cop. Like David. And the kind of men who understand my career are…” She tried to find a word that would encompass all the members of Vice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>GIna found it for her. “Knuckleheads?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Knuckleheads.” Trudy nodded. “But </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> know. It’s just… hard.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If it makes you feel any better, at least once every two weeks my Aunt wants me to meet some ‘hombre </span>
  <em>
    <span>muy, muy</span>
  </em>
  <span> guapo’ who turns out to be either an aging widower or an eighteen year old who works at a bodega.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is wrong with women of a certain generation?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know! I don’t even know if I ever really </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span> kids, so why does it matter if I’m currently dating someone who’s ‘marriage material?’” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This was at odds with some other things Gina had said about children in the past, but Trudy let it go for the sake of solidarity. She looked at the street sign they had just passed by, and realized she was going to have to turn soon if Gina wanted to get back to her car. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, what’re your plans for the rest of the night?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gina shrugged. “Watch TV and Sleep? I’m too full for dinner. You?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Same,” Trudy laughed, not realizing it had sounded like an invitation. “I just wanted to know if you wanted me to drive you back to your car, or back home, or…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gina lazily assessed their surroundings, cheek smushed into the heel of her hand against the windowsill. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re closer to your place. If we’re both just going to watch TV and mope around, want to make a night of it?” She smiled up from below, head tilted, eyes soft with a long-lashed blink. “Usually I only sleep over if there’s an emergency. Or someone’s dead.” Her smile dissipated. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trudy made a noise of distressed agreement, and then asked, “You’re not sick of me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gina swatted at her. “Trudy Joplin, the entire time we’ve been partners, I’ve never </span>
  <em>
    <span>once</span>
  </em>
  <span> been sick of you for even a minute.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not even when we’ve been staking out the same place for four days and we’ve only managed half a shower between us?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not even.” Gina pouted theatrically, pointing at herself. “Do you get sick of </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span> when that happens?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Trudy laughed. She turned over her shoulder and really looked at Gina, who was curled up like an S in the passenger’s seat, head resting on the open window, feet folded half-under the seat. Dark curls whipped behind her in the wind, her collar ruffling. Her eyes were night-black and her lips were the color of a candied strawberry. Trudy returned her eyes to the road, lest she be tempted to crash the car leaning over to kiss those lips. “I’m just surprised,” she confessed. “I’m not… </span>
  <em>
    <span>fun</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Gina scrunched her nose up, pulling her head back in surprise. “Who says you’re not fun?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trudy shrugged. “I’m not fishing for compliments, here. I just know a lot of people think I’m…” She pictured her high school guidance counselor, who had told her once she had ‘terrible bedside manner,’ and needed to work on her ‘people skills.’ “Severe, I guess.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gina sat up straight in the seat. “That’s stupid. You just don’t put up with dumb bullshit. That’s not the same thing as </span>
  <em>
    <span>severe</span>
  </em>
  <span>, jeez.” She crossed her arms, brows furrowed. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Not fun</span>
  </em>
  <span>— whose idea was it to play hookey?”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Irresponsible isn’t the same as fun, Gina,” Trudy laughed. She hadn’t expected her to get so riled up about this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, I’m sorry, if you’re ‘not fun,’ then what am I? A probate hearing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Trudy shook her head, “Because they’d think of you as </span>
  <em>
    <span>sweet</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gina scrunched her lips together. “Why does it sound like an insult when you say it like that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because it kind of is,” Trudy shrugged, trying not to smirk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, oh, I see,” Gina gasped, mock outrage in her fluttering lashes and crossed arms. “‘Sweet’ is a synonym for ‘boring.’” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gina, truly and honestly,” Trudy laughed, putting her hand on her friend’s knee, “I have never thought of you as boring. I am… </span>
  <em>
    <span>never</span>
  </em>
  <span> bored if you’re around,” she grinned, letting the phrase be double-edged. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well,” Gina sighed, “At least we like each other.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think we’re very likeable, in a boring, no-fun kind of way.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s amazing we’re not being swarmed by eligible bachelors right this very minute.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gina, if a swarm of men suddenly descended on my car, you know we’d both just pull our guns on them.” Trudy pulled the car into the apartment’s lot and turned the key. They got the pictures and flowers and the poster Trudy had bought at the Bass out of the trunk and brought everything upstairs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trudy kicked her shoes off at the door. As Gina did the same, Trudy dug a vase out from the back of a high cabinet and filled it partway with water. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You want anything?” She unwrapped the purple tissue paper from the bouquet and set it carefully into the water. “Water? Coffee? Beer?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll take a beer.” Gina hopped onto one of the barstools placed in front of Trudy’s high kitchen island. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The vase found its way to the counter and Trudy opened the fridge to grab two beers. She slid one and a bottle opener over to Gina, and leaned her elbows on the other side of the bar across from her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks, barkeep.” Gina winked as she opened her bottle. Trudy looked down at the floor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>All day, Gina had been doing things that— well. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Things like that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trudy had always been content to just quietly think Gina was kind of cute. It wasn’t an all-encompassing longing, it didn’t make it hard to be her friend, it didn’t consume her thoughts— Gina was just cute. And straight. And Trudy was cool with that. Not every minor crush had to become a </span>
  <em>
    <span>thing</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But she had been playing the whole </span>
  <em>
    <span>date </span>
  </em>
  <span>thing too well, and it was making Trudy feel warm, hazy, lost, like a tilting seabird against a clouded pink sky. She opened her own bottle and drank. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know we were joking around,” Gina stated, apropos of nothing. She ran the tip of her finger over the mouth of the bottle, looking down into its depths. “But I really am glad we met.” She looked up at Trudy with a cartoonish smile, lips pressed tight together in a perfect, sheepish little U. “It’s hard to make friends outside of work, and…” She shrugged. “I feel really lucky that you’re a </span>
  <em>
    <span>real</span>
  </em>
  <span> friend, not just a work friend.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me too,” Trudy concurred. “Sometimes I think about… I dunno, Renee from Internal Affairs, and how miserable I would be if someone like her were my partner.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, god.” Gina scowled through a mouthful of beer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Or even Switek or Zito— you know, I love them both, but…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t want to spend all your time arguing about which Elvis album is the best?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I really, really don’t.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you know,” Gina reached for the TV guide on the far end of the counter, leaning in a way that squished her breasts up against the hard seafoam surface. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trudy looked down at the floor again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Friends didn’t gawk at friends’ cleavage. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gina continued, book in hand. “That Sonny refers to Renee as ‘the Iron Maiden?’”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m pretty sure even Renee knows that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Flipping pages, Gina snorted. “He’s such an idiot.” She looked up. “I mean, I love him. You know I love him. But he doesn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>think</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>very</span>
  </em>
  <span> pretty,” Trudy noted, clinical, vaguely conciliatory— like that explained everything else about him.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They both laughed, Gina’s more than a little self-deprecatory. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Risky Business</span>
  </em>
  <span> is on tonight. And something called </span>
  <em>
    <span>Streets of Justice</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trudy raised an eyebrow, sipping her beer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>‘When the gang responsible for murdering his wife and son escape criminal prosecution,’</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Gina read, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>‘due to a technicality, a man goes on a murderous rampage, in which all criminals become his target.’</span>
  </em>
  <span>” She looked up at Trudy for a response.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That sounds like a laugh riot.” Unintentionally, with perfect timing, Trudy yawned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gina chuckled, dumb and sputtery. “Teen sex comedy it is.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nodding, Trudy set her beer on the counter. “I think I’m gonna go put PJs on, if you don’t mind.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go ahead.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can borrow whatever you want to sleep in,” she offered. Gina had slept on her couch enough times that she knew where the nighties and oversized tees were. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trudy put on a nightshirt with a picture of Snoopy on it. She briefly contemplated something legitimately cute— the teddy with the strawberries on it or the baby blue two-piece with the tiny shorts— and then chided herself for letting her mind wander in that direction at all. They were going to watch the first twenty minutes of a movie, Gina was going to finish her beer and fall asleep on Trudy’s shoulder, and she was going to go to bed and sleep until her alarm went off in the morning. Trudy had no reason to make herself sexy for her straight best friend. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Except, when she walked out of the bedroom, Gina was staring at her. She stood leaning against the counter, one elbow down, feet crossed at the ankles. Holding her beer, she looked… tough. Hot in a way that made Trudy wish she had put on the strawberry nightie. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When she looked Trudy up and down, the desire to </span>
  <em>
    <span>be cuter, goddamn it</span>
  </em>
  <span> felt like a collapsing star in Trudy’s gut. Why did she put on something with a cartoon dog on it!?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Gina’s response was— “How is it that you’re so gorgeous?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trudy’s eyebrows traveled as high as they could go on her forehead. She blinked. “Excuse me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re beautiful.” Gina stated, matter-of-factly, shrugging slightly. “I don’t know anyone else who’d still be so beautiful that she’d stop traffic in Peanuts pajamas.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A blush starting in Trudy’s cheeks crept into her forehead and down her neck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not even jealous,” she sighed, shaking her head slightly, a mischievous look in her eye. “You’re like fine art.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gina,” Trudy stated, firmly, blinking, “You tell me we’re on a date, you buy me flowers, you come home with me and now you’re flirting with me like you just got off the army base and haven’t seen a flesh-and-blood woman in months.” She pursed her lips, trying to look a little judgemental, and put her hand on her hip. “If you don’t quit it, I’m gonna have to kiss you square on the mouth.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gina grinned, chest shaking slightly with silent laughter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Internally, Trudy deflated. So it had just been a joke. Of course.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go ahead.” Gina was still smiling, although now it was almost more of a leer than a grin. “It’s been a long time since I kissed a girl.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trudy stood with her mouth open, feeling her left eyebrow attempt to make some kind of expression without her consent. When her speech systems came back in sync with her facial muscles, she scowled and blurted, “When have </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> ever kissed a girl?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suddenly looking a little like she had waded a little too deep into unknown waters, Gina shrugged her shoulders very slightly. “Uh, well, my fifteenth birthday party, for starters.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Seriously.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. One of my friends stayed over afterwards and…” She shrugged again, looking girlish and nervous once more. “We said we were practicing for when we got boyfriends, but I don’t know. I mean, I…” She blinked rapidly, looking off to the side, and smiled a sheepish smile of false bravado. “I wasn’t thinking about boys at the time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re really not kidding?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trudy could see Gina shrinking, and wished she had said something different.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What would I gain by lying?” She bit the inside of her lip.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A thousand different questions ran like ticker-tape through Trudy’s head. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What about as an adult? Do you still think about women like that sometimes? Do you think of </span>
  </em>
  <span>me</span>
  <em>
    <span> like that? Have you actually been flirting with me all day, really? Do you really think I’m beautiful?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>What she said was, haltingly, “M— me too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gina’s posture stopped collapsing in on itself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I— when I was sixteen my mom walked in on me and my girlfriend. She’s been concerned about my… </span>
  <em>
    <span>reproductive potential</span>
  </em>
  <span> ever since.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh thank god,” Gina laughed, practically vibrating. “I’ve been trying to figure out if you— if we were both—” She sidestepped any sort of labels with a funny little tip of her head and a caterpillar-like movement of her eyebrows. “—since almost a year ago. It was when I—” She looked down, face tensing almost imperceptibly. “The case with Ramirez. Before it even happened, you said something like, ‘sometimes I feel like this would be easier if the clients were women.’ And I started wondering, I guess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why didn’t you just ask?”   </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gina squinted. “How would </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> ask your partner in law enforcement if they played for both teams?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trudy cupped her overheating face in her hands. “Yup. Yup. Dumb question.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gina pulled Trudy’s hands from her cheeks and held them. She was radiating sunshine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe it’s stupid,” she mumbled, cheeks rounded, “But this… makes me really happy.” She looked Trudy in the eye, mouth flat, eyes glistening slightly. “I convinced myself I’d just… never tell anyone again, you know? That I would know, but that no one else would have to. And that it’d be okay, I guess, as long as I never like, really </span>
  <em>
    <span>fell in love</span>
  </em>
  <span> with a woman. I could just… date men and live with people making assumptions. And that no one would ever know that one thing about me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trudy grabbed Gina around the shoulders and squeezed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wrapped her arms around Trudy and, scratchy-voiced, explained, “I’m just… so glad. That it’s you who really knows me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was no way Trudy was going to ask a single question about how this might affect her or their relationship. It was more important than ever now for Gina to be able to trust her— for this to be something that bonded them as friends. She deserved to have someone who understood her without </span>
  <em>
    <span>wanting</span>
  </em>
  <span> her, and Trudy could live with that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m glad you told me,” she muttered into Gina’s neck. “That you trusted me to know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They stood like that for a long time, Gina breathing wam against Trudy’s skin, her arms tight around her middle. Trudy wondered— was Gina crying? Nervous about making eye contact now that all these things had been said out loud? Just really, really needed a hug? She was soft and warm and surprisingly pliable in Trudy’s arms, and the desire to kiss her neck grew almost overwhelming.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But it hadn’t been the right kind of confession for that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So Trudy asked, quietly, face pressed to Gina’s skin, “You still wanna watch a movie?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gina appeared to take a moment to collect herself, and nodded, silently. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lemme borrow pajamas,” she entreated, a little misty. When she returned, in a pair of drawstring shorts and a t-shirt with kissing bumblebees on it, they migrated to the couch. Gina tucked her feet under her butt and leaned her head on Trudy’s shoulder. Trudy let her head rest on the top of Gina’s and flipped on the TV. Quietly, they watched just up to the point where Tom Cruise had a glass of wine with a TV dinner.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey.” Gina sleepily looked up at Trudy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You really had a girlfriend in high school?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trudy raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like… serious?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trudy shrugged, mumbling into Gina’s hair. “As serious as any high school relationship, I guess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gina sighed, her ribs expanding and her shoulders rising against Trudy’s chest. “I don’t think I could’ve been that brave. I’m not sure I could be that brave </span>
  <em>
    <span>now</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think I was more foolhardy than brave,” Trudy reassured. “Kids think they’re invincible.” She rolled her eyes with a flutter of eyelashes. “And now my mother just calls every two weeks to reconfirm I’m dating men.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So when you said earlier that your mom wants you to lower your standards…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yup.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If it makes you feel any better, my aunt would probably just drop dead if she ever figured it out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trudy half-chuckled, but it wasn’t really all that funny. Gina’s reluctance to say any of it out loud— </span>
  <em>
    <span>bisexual</span>
  </em>
  <span>, </span>
  <em>
    <span>attracted to women</span>
  </em>
  <span>— spoke to a deep-seated fear. Her surprise at Trudy having an actual ex indicated a lack of experience borne of that fear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wondered out loud. “Was that time with your friend the only time you’ve been with a girl?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gina shook her head. “No.” She looked up, brown eyes blurry and tired. “I mean, I’ve kissed girls at parties, but. In terms of… </span>
  <em>
    <span>actual </span>
  </em>
  <span>experience— well, when I was a rookie, there was this robbery, and… I hit it off with the owner of the deli that had been robbed, and we, uh,” she hesitated, apparently looking for a specific word. Not finding it, she blandly stated, “We slept together a couple of times.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trudy squinted. “Wait, is this the deli on 24th?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Totally unable to make eye contact, Gina pursed her lips like a duck and nodded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The one where you always get a free drink and cookie and I never do?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>More duck-faced nodding ensued. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trudy smacked Gina on the shoulder. “Here I’ve been thinking you wanted to get turkey on rye from a racist all these years.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh my god!” Gina looked horrified. “I’m so sorry!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“God,” Trudy contemplated, “I’ve been </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> bitchy to her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well… it </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> still kind of unfair that I get free stuff.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have an inappropriate joke to make about cookies but I’m not going to make it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Trudy!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, there’s nothing wrong with a good old-fashioned cookie exchange,” she joked anyway, noting Gina’s smile beneath her false outrage. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gina reached up and grabbed Trudy’s face with one hand, squishing her cheeks up and forward. “Listen, buster—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bushtrr?” Trudy laughed, muffled by Gina’s grip on her cheeks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, buster,” Gina giggled, still holding on, “I </span>
  <em>
    <span>hate</span>
  </em>
  <span> goofy baby words for one’s nether regions.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trudy pried Gina’s hand from her face. “Says the woman who chose ‘nether regions’ over ‘genitals.’”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, I can choose to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>polite</span>
  </em>
  <span> without calling my vagina my ‘foo-foo’ or ‘honeypot’ or something.” Gina grimaced like she had just been served a plate of particularly active slime molds. “You know, one time a guy told me he wanted to ‘explore my guava palace—’”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What!?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“—and I was forced to suddenly develop stomach bug symptoms to get him out of my house.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the hell is wrong with men?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gina shrugged theatrically. “Why do we </span>
  <em>
    <span>date</span>
  </em>
  <span> them?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For me it’s about 30/30/30 they’re hot, I don’t want to get fired, and I don’t ever want to have another conversation with my mother about my sexuality.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s the other 10 percent?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trudy pondered. “Outright masochism?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gina snorted loudly, folding into a ball. She laughed a high-pitched, almost mournful laugh with her face in her hands, crumpled over at the waist. Trudy patted the top of her head and chuckled along with her. As the howling died down, Gina pushed herself back into Trudy like a cat trying to get comfortable; Trudy gathered her friend in her arms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t the first time they had cuddled up like this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Barely two weeks ago, after David had left, Trudy had moped with her head on Gina’s lap, nursing a wine cooler. Last year— after Ramirez. A hundred times in between. And in some ways, it was no different than it had ever been. But in other ways, now there was a sense of— of </span>
  <em>
    <span>scales</span>
  </em>
  <span>, balanced within a hair’s weight, ready to tip one way or another if the wind blew a from the East or the West. Of that feeling of stepping out onto ice and feeling the glide as your ice skate bit in, wobbling a little, ready to push off with the other foot. Of standing with your toes curled on the edge of a diving board. It was thrilling. The anticipation had Trudy’s chest all full of crickets. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And it also scared the shit out of her, because she was pretty sure that wasn’t what Gina wanted. Gina seemed </span>
  <em>
    <span>so thrilled</span>
  </em>
  <span> to just know they were the same, that she wasn’t alone, that there was someone who understood her. Gina distinctly did not seem to want to get in Trudy’s pants. She didn’t even have pants </span>
  <em>
    <span>on</span>
  </em>
  <span> right now— if Gina wanted to, she could </span>
  <em>
    <span>very</span>
  </em>
  <span> easily be copping a feel. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gina pushed her cheek against Trudy’s sternum, breathing out softly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But then…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trudy took a deep breath in and tried to slow the beating of her heart. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She touched the top of Gina’s head with her nose. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mm?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Last week. I should’ve come to you first.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All the bullshit with David. None of it would’ve happened if I had come to you after all that shit with IA instead of gone out looking for trouble.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gina made a soft </span>
  <em>
    <span>hrrm</span>
  </em>
  <span>-ing noise and inhaled. “Trudy… it’s not your fault that he’s an asshole. You don’t deserve to have been hurt just because you were feeling vulnerable.” She looked up, suddenly worried. “Not that I’m telling you not to come to me if you’re upset! I mean, I always want you to feel like you can come to me.” She reached up and touched Trudy’s cheek. “But… it shouldn’t have to be the only safe option, y’know?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trudy glanced down at her partner. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She didn’t say anything. She just squeezed her a little tighter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nothing else about their plans for the night changed. As predicted, Gina finished her drink and fell asleep on the couch before the movie was over. Trudy managed to rouse her just enough to roll under a blanket and lift her head for a pillow. When they woke up the next morning, Trudy made toast and eggs, and Gina borrowed some clothes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They drove to work together like nothing was different, chatting about Trudy’s neighbors and the commute and how they were going to keep their cover story straight. In the light of day, the crickets had vacated Trudy’s lungs, and she was just glad that the person she considered her best friend loved her regardless of her sexuality. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She pulled into her normal spot behind the precinct, a few rows back, underneath the lone shade-giving palm, set the emergency brake, and turned the key. As she unbuckled her belt and leaned to open the door, Gina grabbed her arm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait.” She looked slightly panicked. “Hold on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gina, it’s fine,” Trudy reassured. “Just let me do the talking and no one will know you skipped out.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” she shook her head. She looked around the parking lot, head whipping to the left and right. “I know our cover story. I just…” She squinted. “Something didn’t quite—”  She stopped herself, looking very frustrated, and then sat up a little straighter. “Something got lost in translation last night, I think.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trudy’s stomach dropped. Was she going to pretend it had all just been a misunderstanding?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wasn’t kidding,” Gina blurted, eyes darting as she spoke. “I really— I really do think you’re gorgeous.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gina took a shaky breath in, glancing over her shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then she leaned over the gearshift and, in broad daylight, with the convertible top down, in the parking lot of the precinct where they worked, kissed Trudy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her lips were soft— so soft, so sweet and insistent at the same time— and Trudy found herself leaning into the kiss despite the danger. Her eyes fluttered shut and she tilted her head slightly, and Gina’s hand was warm on her cheek and her lips were parting for her and their noses were brushing and Gina had just made a tiny, lovely little noise against her mouth. It had probably only been ten seconds since their lips met, but as Gina relaxed back into her seat and pulled away, it felt like the Earth had tilted on its axis. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gina smiled, wide-eyed, bashful, a little bit impish. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She looked to her left and right one last time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” her brows furrowed, “That was dumb.” Her eyes widened and she put her hands up in front of her. Rambling, she continued, “Not the part where I kissed you, I don’t think, unless you thought that was dumb. I thought that was the, uh. Important. Part. The dumb part was the part where… I had all of yesterday to do that and waited until we were in a public parking lot where our boss might see us instead.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trudy nodded, still dumbfounded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You're… </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> beautiful," Gina explained, face reddening. "Like, hot. Sexy beautiful, not just… painting beautiful. And I would like to kiss you again sometime," she paused, eyes darting from side to side. "Privately." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still wide-eyed, she bolted up from her seat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We should go inside.” She offered her hand out to Trudy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trudy took Gina's hand and stood up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And she started laughing. Gina, practically vibrating, exploded along with her. They stood there, holding hands in the front seat of a car, howling with laughter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When she finally stopped, tears in the corners of her eyes, Trudy pulled Gina's hand to her lips. She kissed the backs of her fingers, looking at her from below dark eyelashes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Alright, Calabrese." She raised her eyebrows. "Let's go lie to our boss."</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Everyone on Vice Squad is bisexual, suck it. Yes, all of them. Yes, even that bald guy who's always in a Hawaiian shirt carrying stacks of files around. Maybe *especially* him. </p><p>Gina and Trudy smooch! Now with such WLW hits as:</p><ul>
<li>Is this what friends do? This is definitely just what friends do</li> 
<li>I am terrified of coming off as predatory so I just won't say anything</li>
<li>Okay but like when does the cuddling cross the line into 'gay'</li> 
</ul><p>Please come talk to me on the <a href="https://discord.gg/79mQP7DmUd">Miami Vice Discord Server</a> if you, too, think Gina/Trudy is a CRIMINALLY UNDERRATED SHIP</p><p>Addendum: I am so jealous I don't have a  <a href="https://www.pbs.org/video/mold-rama-chicagos-very-own-souvenir-machine-spnzhn/">Mold-O-Rama</a> SpaceRail, which despite largely being a Chicago thing, <a href="https://moldville.arcade-museum.com/30--space-rail.html">did once exist</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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